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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24501724">Part of the Night</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartcranequills/pseuds/heartcranequills'>heartcranequills</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, But just a little, Charlie Magne Is A Mess, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Lucifer Is A Dick In This One, Nice Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rating May Change, Rating WILL Change Actually, Slow Burn, Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:55:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,195</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24501724</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartcranequills/pseuds/heartcranequills</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard being hell's favorite laughing stock, but Charlie gets by.</p><p>But a few weeks since opening and Charlie's already getting much unwarranted criticism—from her father, of all demons. Things get out of hand when Lucifer threatens to close the hotel, and she has to think of something fast to show him just how much he's wrong about her, and just how much she's winning at being independent from his confining reach.</p><p>Or so she thinks.</p><p>There's one more problem: how does she break it to her father that Alastor, the charming radio demon out to wreck her composure and quite frankly, her attempts in adulting, is with her—in more ways than one?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alastor &amp; Charlie Magne, Alastor/Charlie Magne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>271</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. I | Charlie Magne Was Not Okay</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Charlie didn’t remember being this high-strung when she had been with Seviathan.</p>
<p>But Seviathan von Eldritch was a joke, if she had to think about it. It being their disastrous relationship that embarrassingly happened in a time long suppressed to the deep dark recesses of Charlie’s subconscious, where all her other suppressed memories lay buried, never to be unearthed again.</p>
<p>Seviathan was okay. As okay as a joke could be. Which meant he wasn’t okay at all.</p>
<p>Alastor, however, who presently walked alongside her with his dreadfully long-legged stride and constantly amused look, was a strange case. Charlie couldn’t decide whether he was okay or <em>not</em> okay.</p>
<p>What was okay with Alastor was foremost his willingness to help Charlie with the hotel. Even as they took this seemingly leisurely walk through the brightly lit corridors of the place for probably the thirty-sixth time, the impressiveness of the newly molded interior never failed to astound her. </p>
<p>And she couldn’t have had all of this if it weren’t for Alastor.</p>
<p>Another okay thing with Alastor was quite shamefully (to Charlie at least) the way he dressed lately. </p>
<p>Since the formidable demon had begun to aid in the revamp of the hotel, Alastor had begun to—as he liked to put it—‘present himself more casually.’ It was no longer uncommon for staff and guests alike to see him without his frock coat, much to the enjoyment of their lady guests. Vaggie told him off once, telling him he was getting too comfortable, and he did concede, but after a week or two under the scrutiny of Vaggie’s strict eye, he had decided that as main architect of the establishment he shouldn’t give a damn, and returned to discarding his coat and walking around like a man out to scandalize some women. Not that anybody tried to tell him otherwise afterwards.</p>
<p>Today was no exception, and Charlie’s eyes quickly took in the sight of his bare forearms, the shirtsleeves bunched up to his elbows, the well-fitted waistcoat wrapped around his torso, until at last she reached his amused gaze.</p>
<p>The corner of his mouth lifted. “You were saying?” </p>
<p>Her heart skipped several beats. “Yes,” said Charlie, rifling through the papers on her clipboard, hands shaking ever so slightly. “I was saying something. Um…right. <em>Right.</em> I was wondering, last night, what your take on advertisement was. Like. For the hotel.” She hoped to whatever hellish god there was that her voice didn’t betray the racing in her chest.</p>
<p>“Are you saying you think about me late at night, Charlie?”</p>
<p>“W-what?” she stuttered. “I didn’t say that!”</p>
<p>Alastor only chuckled as they headed for the large ornate doors to the balcony, which Alastor made a point to open for her and perform an old-fashioned bow.</p>
<p>“After you,” he said, his low drawl accompanied by a dastardly look from under his lashes, <em>“ma chérie.”</em></p>
<p>The charm was strong with this one. She went through the doorway, Alastor close behind her. “Last I checked, Alastor, you didn’t know French.”</p>
<p>“Oh, but you wish I did, don’t you?” teased Alastor, oblivious to the French mental images running wild through Charlie’s head with his suggestion.</p>
<p>Alastor twirled his finger over her head, sparks igniting with soft <em>pops!</em> that reminded Charlie of the muted sound of fireworks from her room on New Year’s. “What are you—” she began, but stopped mid-sentence upon the sensation of tightness in her hair. She reached up and patted her head, wary, and was surprised not to feel her hair loose and puffing with volume like as usual. The strands were stuck tight to her scalp. She looked down, and saw that her hair now ended in two neatly weaved French braids.</p>
<p>Alastor reached out with scarred fingers—Charlie was surprised to realize she never really took note of his scars until now—and took a braid in his hand. Charlie watched him, quiet, as he gave an almost absentminded tug on her braid.</p>
<p>Oh.</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh, dear.</em>
</p>
<p>Charlie, desperately trying to hide the blush beginning to creep on her cheeks, swatted away his hand. “Stop that,” she scolded. “I’m surprised you even know what a French braid is.”</p>
<p>“I know a lot of things, dearie,” said Alastor, before sending her a wink and walking away.</p>
<p>She stared after him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Any kind of retort she wanted to say out loud was lost in her utter dismay.</p>
<p>What was <em>not okay</em> was the way he made Charlie feel things.</p>
<p>She chased after him, who stood by the balustrade, looking over the lobby below like a captain at the prow of his ship, overlooking the wide blue of the sea as his ship cut the waters, distant lands to conquer occupying his thoughts. She couldn’t help admiring the view herself. </p>
<p>The hotel looked nothing like it had before. With Alastor’s aid and surprising sense of style, the lobby had been redecorated and remade into something straight out of a vintage lover’s dream: a gleaming floor of dark marble, flecked with tables here and there on a sprawling rug, sculptures of classical people (sinners) scattered artfully across the space—Atlas, Sisyphus, Midas, to name a few. Two massive staircases wrapped around the walls, leading to the very balcony they were situated on at the moment. It was Alastor’s most iconic addition to the hotel, and by far, Charlie’s favorite.</p>
<p>“So,” said Alastor. “Advertisement.”</p>
<p>Charlie spared herself a glance of him. He was entirely focused on the lazy afternoon the lobby was currently experiencing, and for the sacred length of a few moments, Charlie allowed herself the pleasure of admiring the view he offered her. Perhaps the view from the balcony could be her second favorite.</p>
<p>He turned his head to her, calling her attention, “Charlie?”</p>
<p>“Right!” she exclaimed all too loudly. Charlie chomped down on the head of her pen, uncapping it, as she peered down at her notes. She got so easily distracted, damn it; she had more important things to attend to. “I know operations are still kinda slow, what with the grand soft opening—” she heard a soft scoff beside her. She glared at Alastor “—but we could use some marketing, you know. A way to get more demons coming through our doors.”</p>
<p>“I believe it would be simpler for all of us if we just abducted them from the side streets.” Alastor chuckled darkly. She looked over at him. He was smiling slightly, and looked like he was thoroughly enjoying the idea.</p>
<p>“You’re imagining it, right now, aren’t you?”</p>
<p>“I’m imagining the astounding number of demons we’ll be getting.”</p>
<p>“Willingly. A way to get them through our doors willingly, Al.”</p>
<p>He shook himself out of it, the microphone stand in his hand going ‘awww’ with a crowd’s disappointed chorus. Charlie wasn’t too sure, but she swore she caught the eye of that sentient mic give her a disapproving look.</p>
<p>Alastor shrugged in casual defeat, but the smile remained on his face.</p>
<p>They moved from the railing, and she began to fiddle with one of her braids, unraveling it. “Seriously, though, what do you think?”</p>
<p>“It’s not faster than my idea,” joked Alastor, “but it’ll get the job done.”</p>
<p>Charlie sighed out her relief, crossing out lines of text on her clipboard. “Thank the devil.”</p>
<p>Alastor steered them towards one of the massive staircases. He rested a hand lightly on her waist, guiding her, as she blindly put one foot in front of the other, writing down the words ‘Marketing Strategy’ on a fresh page. </p>
<p>“What do you have in mind?” Alastor asked. He peered over her shoulder.</p>
<p>“Nothing ye—oh, I know!” she gushed suddenly, jumping in front of Alastor and spinning to face him with almost theatric affair as they walked across the expanse of the balcony. She walked backwards, stars practically in her eyes, Alastor watching her intently. “Why don't we broadcast a commercial on the radio? Something cute and fun and quirky to attract potential guests—” She gasped loudly in barely contained excitement. “Maybe I could <em>sing.”</em></p>
<p>“Ha,” Alastor laughed with as much excitement as a brick. “No, dear. Not on <em>my</em> radio show.”</p>
<p>Charlie pouted. “Any other ideas, then?” she challenged.</p>
<p>“The offer of abduction still stands,” said Alastor, sending her a sideways smirk.</p>
<p>“And the offer is still declined,” shot back Charlie, unable to prevent the smile from growing on her face. It was hard to stay mad at Alastor, as much as he tried his best to make everyone he came in contact with want to slap him. Like a fly. A very handsome fly.</p>
<p>Charlie began to worry about her line of thinking nowadays.</p>
<p>Charlie gave him a sly look of her own, still in the present tense of wanting to swat the annoying fly that was Alastor’s mug. “You’re just afraid I’ll make a better radio show host than you.”</p>
<p>It caught him quite off guard, judging by his reaction. He squawked out a surprised scoff, looked startled for a moment, and then gathered his composure. This happened in the span of a second. He looked at her with a playful glint in his eye that would have been convincing if Charlie hadn’t seen it all. “That’s far-fetched, dear.”</p>
<p>Charlie didn’t take it personal, raising her hands in surrender. “Alright. It’s a draw then.” She was grinning as she eased back to Alastor's side, and they found themselves walking in sync, their shoes making light clacking noises on the shiny floors. “Moving on.” She tapped her pen against the clipboard. “Niffty discovered one of our guests has been trying to get through the ballroom wards. Again. The wards are keeping him out, yeah, but he’s been sneaking out of his room to go there and I’m tempted to hire orderlies just for him—”</p>
<p>“I presume you’re talking about the self-proclaimed Trash Man on Floor 13,” Alastor interjected.</p>
<p>“Yup, the one and only.”</p>
<p>Alastor mock-sighed. “What a strange moniker,” he said. “No need for orderlies, I’ll deal with him.”</p>
<p>“Yes, thank you—but <em>please</em> don’t do anything extreme.”</p>
<p>Alastor put a hand to his chest. “I would never!”</p>
<p>“Alastor,” she warned, to which he only replied with a conspiratorial wink. Charlie sighed. She hoped him dealing with a guest wouldn’t end up badly.</p>
<p>“You know,” Charlie said after a thoughtful pause. “We should probably return to fixing up the ballroom.”  She checked to see how he would react. Charlie wasn’t sure what Alastor thought about continuing hotel developments, since he was the main and sole construction workforce, and she didn’t want him to think she was slaving him around. But if they finished renovations sooner… “We’ve barely touched it since opening, and now that things are running smoothly…I think we can pick it up again.”</p>
<p>Alastor glanced down at her and met her eyes. He said, “I don’t see why not.”</p>
<p>She didn’t know she was holding in her breath until she released it with a relieved sigh. “Thank you,” she breathed. “You don’t mind if we head for the ballroom after we check the lobby, right?”</p>
<p>Alastor smiled at her. “Not at all, darling,” he said.</p>
<p>Charlie wouldn’t admit it, but the way Alastor looked at her did splendid things for her heart.</p>
<p>“Great,” said Charlie, albeit a little shakily, before focusing again on her list, her heart beating wildly in her chest. “Okay, last one: I just found out Angel finished the vodka at the bar.”</p>
<p>“There's extra—”</p>
<p>“He finished those too. Last night. We’ll have to put him on a liquor ban for the meantime but…” She looked at Alastor, apologetic. “Would you mind getting us some more, Al? If it’s alright with you, of course,” she added timidly, biting her lip.</p>
<p>Strangely, Alastor’s gaze narrowed on her mouth, and she released her lip from her teeth almost immediately, suddenly self-conscious. </p>
<p>He snapped his fingers in the direction of the bar—simultaneously snapping themselves out of whatever that had just been—and gave her a wide grin. “Consider it ticked off your list.”</p>
<p>Alastor looked so boyish in his pride it made Charlie’s stomach somersault at the assault of cuteness. Vaggie would have called him pompous, but Charlie just thought he looked adorable— especially with the fluffy tufts of his hair bouncing with almost every step he took down the staircase.</p>
<p>She beamed up at him. “You’re absolutely a lifesaver, Al—agh!”</p>
<p>Charlie wanted to die at how unattractive that sounded. She could also get her chance, as her feet stumbled over themselves on the steps of the stairs and she was airborne. For a split-second, she was completely weightless in the air, free and untethered as a bird if only she wasn’t aware that she would meet the rest of the stairs with her face instead of her shoes.</p>
<p>Just as she came to terms with the fact that she would not have a graceful landing, in front of Alastor of all people, she felt a hand close in on her wrist and pull her to safety.</p>
<p>She was grounded all of a sudden, back to hell with her feet grazing the floor, and she hadn't realized her eyes were closed until she opened them, meeting Alastor’s face up close and personal.</p>
<p>She wasn't sure if she now felt like falling, or flying.</p>
<p>Her lips were parted, heart pumping wildly in her chest, as she took note that she was in the circle of his arms, jammed right to him, his hands holding her in place by the small of her back, and despite the already existing heat in her cheeks, Charlie started to feel the familiar warmth blossoming yet again. Alastor could probably feel her frantic heartbeat through his waistcoat. This near, and with the heat of their two bodies pressed so tightly to each other, Alastor’s musky scent was so very obvious to Charlie. Good Lucifer, did that smell good.</p>
<p>“Careful there, darling!” Alastor trilled with his usual exuberance. “Wouldn't want you slipping and hitting your head now. Where else would I have my daily dose of smiles?”</p>
<p>Charlie laughed nervously in Alastor's arms, because she found him and herself and the entire point of existence ridiculously funny. “You smile more than enough for the whole of us here, Alastor.”</p>
<p>“But yours are entirely special, dear.” Alastor's smirk was devilish, and Charlie decided that as Princess of Hell that should be illegal, because there was only one devil and it was <em>not</em> him.</p>
<p>Husk suddenly walked past. “Save it for when I'm not sober,” he muttered, loud enough for the both of them to hear.</p>
<p>That broke the spell. Just as quickly as they had found themselves in each other’s arms, they sprung apart.  Charlie discovered she sorely missed the feeling of arms wrapped around her just a moment ago. Or maybe it was just Alastor she missed.</p>
<p>She tried to reel in her thoughts. They were running rampant too often.</p>
<p>They walked the remaining steps down to the lobby floor, silent. From the corner of her eye, Charlie watched as he summoned back his microphone stand. He must have sent it away to whatever interdimensional locker he had when he caught her. As if feeling her gaze on him, Alastor glanced at Charlie just then, and for one second, they shared a palpable look. It only ended too soon, once they were in the midst of other demons, both of them looking away yet again before either could decipher what it meant.</p>
<p>
  <em>Lovely day, you’re having, Charlie, now everything’s awkward.</em>
</p>
<p>Just then, an opportunity to distract herself came her way, presenting itself in the form of an incessant tug on the hem of her shirt.</p>
<p>She looked down, and saw that it was Razzle, head turned upward toward her. He bleated.</p>
<p>“Oh!” She bent down. “Something for me?”</p>
<p>Razzle nodded and made gestures with his front hooves, miming a phone that he pressed to his ear.</p>
<p>“Right, a call.” She looked for her phone. Weirdly enough, Razzle didn’t have it. “D'you have my cell?” she asked, just to be sure.</p>
<p>He shook his head. Razzle turned and pointed to the other side of the room. There, Dazzle stood by the far wall that divided the lobby from the elevators, and he waved at them when he caught their gaze.</p>
<p>Charlie turned back to Razzle. “There?”</p>
<p>Razzle nodded vigorously.</p>
<p>She casted an apologetic look towards Alastor, who watched them with an indiscernible look on his face. Worry bubbled in her gut. She hoped this wouldn’t persist. "We'll continue after I take this call?" asked Charlie.</p>
<p>He tipped an imaginary hat to her, still with his closed off expression. A tiny smile was the only thing that donned his features. “I'll be looking forward to it.” Then he turned and headed for the lobby area.</p>
<p>Charlie watched him go, ignoring the anxiety she could feel beginning to crawl under her skin. It was nothing, she said internally, but she wasn't convincing enough, even to herself. Mercifully, before she could dwell on it, Razzle gave her shirt another tug towards the elevators, and she had to tear her gaze away from Alastor's retreating form as she was led to the other half of her bodyguard duo.</p>
<p>“Who’s calling?” she asked Dazzle as she met him by the telephone, Razzle fluttering ahead of her towards him. The receiver was set atop the table, waiting for her, but she remained rooted in place. Charlie couldn't really handle another nosy reporter like last time. </p>
<p>Razzle and Dazzle shared a look, and it struck Charlie as odd when they simply shook their heads at her in unison. Her stomach churned with unease once more. It was nothing. Simply nothing. Nevertheless, she thanked them and sent them off. They bleated happily as they left.</p>
<p>The phone on the table ominously sat patient as a king on his throne peering down at a kneeling subject. She didn’t pick it up. And then she felt foolish, because it was just a <em>telephone,</em> right? Before she could think too much about it plus the meaning of life and the universe, Charlie snatched the blasted thing with a suddenly steeled resolve, but her heart was hammering in her chest when she slowly pressed it to her ear. “Hello?”</p>
<p>The voice on the other end was not one she wished to hear from. “Charlotte, my dear! How are things going on at the motel? Is my baby alright?”</p>
<p>“Hotel,” corrected Charlie.</p>
<p>“Same difference,” Lucifer flippantly replied.</p>
<p>Charlie rolled her eyes. It was forced, an attempt to trick her jangling nerves into thinking talking to Lucifer was entirely fine, was entirely okay, was definitely not nerve-racking despite being his one and only daughter. She knew she was just fooling herself one way or another. An attempt to laugh only fell flat. “Hello, Dad, good to hear you're the same as always.” Charlie tried to sit on a nearby chair, her free hand worrying the other braid into a wavy mess. “Yes, everything's alright here. And I'm not your baby anymore—we talked about this.”</p>
<p>“Well, that is true.” Lucifer chuckled, and Charlie's heart hiccupped when she heard the snake venom laced in his tone. “And you know what is true as well? That I care. I care so much that I'm worried about what people are saying about you, Charlie. About us—the family.”</p>
<p>“Dad?” she started warily. Dread pulled her brows down. “What are you trying to tell me?”</p>
<p>“I'm reading the newspaper, darling. Care to explain?”</p>
<p>She realized with a sinking feeling that this was beginning to go downhill. Fast. Charlie wasn’t unfamiliar of what her father was talking about. Beside her was the paper itself, the headline blaring out in an ugly bold font, 'Princess of Hell Still a Hack!' However it arrived at her hotel was a mystery to her. With a quick flick of her fingers, she flipped it facedown as she attempted to console Lucifer. “Oh. <em>That.</em> Heh, it's nothing I can't handle—”</p>
<p>“Nothing?!” —<em>someone is making use of selective hearing today,</em> Charlie thought to herself— “This is slander to our name, Charlotte! Mockery! It’s almost <em>blasphemy</em> down here. It's unacceptable.” Lucifer seethed. “Do you know how insulting this is?”</p>
<p>Yes, as if it wasn’t Charlie being mocked in the news. “Dad, it's just an article. By a small-time <em>tabloid</em> of all things.”</p>
<p>“Small-time, hmm? Then how did it arrive at your doorstep if it's so <em>small-time</em> for your <em>five-star</em> hotel?”</p>
<p>The jab did not fly over her head. “I never said we were a—”</p>
<p>"This isn't the first time, either!” There was a crashing noise on Lucifer's end, like an object being thrown and breaking on the floor. “Didn't you learn your lesson after that shameful interview with that bitch on TV?"</p>
<p>Charlie resisted the urge to tear her hair out. Her voice rose in irritation. "But that was even <em>before</em> the hotel was running, Dad! Before Alas—" She bit her tongue before she finished the name. That was information she still hadn't yet divulged with her father. There just never was a perfect time.</p>
<p>"Before what, Charlotte?" Lucifer’s voice lowered dangerously. She knew what that voice meant: to scare her into telling what just she was hiding. The joke was on him, though, because she was already at the limit of her fear.</p>
<p>"Nothing," she said, too quickly for nonchalant dismissal. <em>Damn it.</em> "But that's beside the point—"</p>
<p>"The point being you're wasting your potential on this lost cause," Lucifer cut off. "Don't do any more damage on the Magne name, Charlotte. Just quit it."</p>
<p>Charlie drew in a shaky breath. It was already infuriating to deal with pesky reporters looking for tabloid-worthy drama, and having to deal with an additional Lucifer was just unbearable. But this was <em>her</em> project, her brain child. Her responsibility, she reminded herself. She wasn’t giving it up so easily because of a sermon on the mount from her father.</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>Charlie could almost hear Lucifer's eyebrows rise to his receding hairline. "And why not?"</p>
<p>“Because it's working, Dad,” she reasoned out, and it was the truth. She looked around; at the fully furnished space, the gleaming elevators, Husk heading towards the barroom out back, Nifty trailing behind with a feather-duster, on the way to tidy up the bar before it opened for the late afternoon. Despite everything, hope filled her. “The hotel is seeing progress—”</p>
<p>"Dear, you'll see a bird in hell and say it's alive—"</p>
<p>"Dad—!"</p>
<p>"Enough!” he cut her off for the umpteenth time during this conversation. “I am having none of it! You may be a child no longer, but you forget who you're talking to. I've seen more than a million lifetimes' worth of failure and crushed dreams, and let me tell you this, <em>I know one when I see one."</em></p>
<p>And there went her hope; with it, her self-esteem. Charlie's ears were ringing. “You can't say that," she said, her voice small.</p>
<p>"What?" Lucifer sounded annoyed.</p>
<p>"You can't say that!" Charlie shouted into the phone, as though it was the object of her anger and not her father. A demon on their way to the elevators startled. She turned her back to them, facing the wall. The phone made a noise of distress in her clenched fist. "That's the thing, Dad, you haven't seen it. Not in person."</p>
<p>There was a long pause, so long that Charlie began to wonder if Lucifer was still there. The ringing in her ears only increased. Then, through the noise in her head, she heard him tell her, "Then I'll clear my schedule."</p>
<p>It was her turn to be taken aback. <em>"What?"</em></p>
<p>"You say I haven't seen it—fine. I'll see it for myself." He sounded like he won, and with the claustrophobic sensation of being buried alive, Charlie felt like he already did. “You better show me something worthwhile or I'm burning it to the ground with my own two hands."</p>
<p>"W-wait,” she spluttered. “When are you coming—?"</p>
<p>He didn’t give her an answer. He hung up.</p>
<p>Charlie’s chest felt like a hollowed out cavity as she dropped the phone from her ear, letting it hang limply from her hand, and inside the cavity the maelstrom of emotions she had been feeling since the beginning of the call threatened to tear through her already thin skin. The ringing in her ears had become unbearable, and it banged against the back of her eyes, slamming against her skull from the inside, and it was too much. It was too much it was too much it was too <em>much.</em></p>
<p>The next thing Charlie knew, she was ablaze.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The need for Charlastor content outweighs my shame for being so self-indulgent in this fic, god please strike me down.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. II | Bedlam</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><blockquote>
  <h5>It weeps, it bleeds, and each new day a gash<br/>
Is added to her wounds<br/>
<br/>
Macbeth (4.3.50-51)</h5>
  
</blockquote><br/><p>There was a whine in the air.</p><p>From behind the front desk, Vaggie whirled around, her clipboard still in hand.</p><p>The lobby today had guests. Coffee tables were occupied by demons playing cards or munching on the moonflower arrangements by their seats. The ones who could fly lounged on the chandeliers, their tails—some of them feathered, others scaled—quivering with excitement as they bet on who would fall first. Just a normal day with the usual shenanigans of sinners on their first weeks of rehab.</p><p>But the whining was incessant, like a siren, and some of the demons had begun to take notice. A steady high-pitched sound that rang through the entire lobby, that only increased in volume by the second, unable to be ignored.</p><p>A slight tremor began to shake the building. The clipboard rattled on the marble counter, now discarded and forgotten, as Vaggie stepped out and scanned the room. The sound didn’t seem to be coming from anywhere at all.</p><p>Some of the demons looked around, confused. They caught her eye, silently questioning, as if she knew what they were hearing.</p><p>She didn't.</p><p>The whine then stopped abruptly, and the lobby came to life in a blinding blast.</p><p>The next thing that Vaggie was aware of, the far wall was already smoldering, half-missing and blackened like someone had thrown a bonfire and buckets of ash on its surface. A part of the lobby was catching fire. No casualties, as far as her eye could see, and the perpetrators weren't showing themselves. Good for them, because the tic in her eye was beginning to act up again.</p><p>Everybody knew to stay clear once the tics started.</p><p>The lobby was oddly quiet amidst the settling cinders and flaming upholstery, as Vaggie, already furious, started to roar, “Alright! Which one of you fuckers—!”</p><p>The wall groaned, the one barely erect, and in a sudden tumble of cement, wall ornaments, and demons who had been lounging on the nearby chandelier, it collapsed in a horrendous fall from grace, taking one sorry demon to their execution when a large chunk of the wall landed right on top of it.</p><p>From thereon, it was chaos.</p><p>The demons nearest the rubble had discovered in no time that the ornamental weaponry was not ornamental at all, and in fact, part of Lucifer’s ancient armory that Charlie had thought would be absolutely wonderful decoration for the hotel. Vaggie should’ve warned her better.</p><p>Now, demons hacked at each other with blunt axes and antique pikes. A candelabra was knocked down in a clatter of brass and candlewax, and much to Vaggie's utter dismay, it lit the carpet on fire. As if the lobby didn't need any more fire.</p><p>The air filled with the screams of petrified guests, and the maniacal laughter of demons enjoying the sudden mayhem. And Vaggie’s eye was twitching nonstop.</p><p><em>Charlie,</em> Vaggie realized, amid the pandemonium. Vaggie needed Charlie.</p><p>The reminder of her co-manager was like a kick-start to her systems; and then Vaggie was racing through the chaos, looking to and fro for the demon girl. A blur of fur hurtled towards her at supersonic speed as a demon was tossed by another like a ragdoll. She threw herself to the ground, almost forgetting to brace her arms under her as she slammed to the floor. Her cheekbone banged against the marble hard enough to bruise. The blur flew over her head, and from the space under a sofa she made out a pair of dark men's shoes walking through the carnage like a day in the park, the soles painted with glowing hoof prints.</p><p>She jumped up from the floor. “Alastor!” yelled Vaggie, grabbing a spear from a passing demon; she broke it in half with one move and threw it to the floor like God smiting the devil. She pinned the demon immobile with her angry gaze, and growled out, <em>“Not on my watch,”</em> and sent him scurrying away.</p><p>Alastor was already turned to her when she faced him, his stance at ease in the middle of a cockfight between a pair of birdlike demons. “Problem?” he asked innocently.</p><p>Vaggie still had room in her tiny body to become even more annoyed. “You are standing right IN THE MIDDLE OF IT! Do something!”</p><p>“But I am! I'm enjoying the scenery!” He grinned wickedly, and an audience's laughter laughed for him, coming from his microphone.</p><p>“No!” Vaggie almost screamed in frustration. “God fuck—” She cursed rapid fire Spanish under her breath, English failing her. “ARGH. I meant like—like—dammit, I don’t know, STOPPING THE—THE <em>THIS.</em> THE FIGHTING."</p><p>Imperceptibly fast, he was suddenly right in front of her, standing on the sofa she had peered his shoes from under just a minute ago. It would have been silly, if it weren't for the dark look on his face. He bent in half, uncannily so, like a wooden doll with hinges at the waist, and looked her in the eye.</p><p>His head tilted to the side. “And why would I do that?” Red eyes flashed, a grin still in place, and he spoke softly, as if he was entrusting her with a secret, “You forget, dear, that I came here to be entertained.”</p><p>Then in a breath, he was gone.</p><p>Despite the fiery blaze of her surroundings, Vaggie went cold all over. She cursed at herself, and though she did not wish to admit it, fear ran through her body and plummeted to her feet like a weight chained to her ankles. She couldn’t even walk if she wanted to. A crash from directly behind her took her out of her paralysis, and with a shake of her head and another curse at herself, she went back in search of Charlie.</p><p>She found her by the elevators where the wall had been destroyed, staring down at the telephone so furiously that Vaggie was surprised it hadn't burst into flames yet. The receiver was not so lucky, as it was still in Charlie's hand, and getting choked to death.</p><p>Vaggie raced to her and grabbed hold of her hands. The receiver clattered to the floor with the unsettling dissonant sound of plastic hitting marble. Charlie’s hands were hot to touch, almost burning, and Vaggie bit on her lip as she ignored the stinging in her fingers and focused on Charlie; Charlie whose eyes were unseeing and angry, glassy and cold. The temperature around them had begun to rise.</p><p>“Charlie. Charlie, listen to me,” Vaggie frantically said. “You’re burning up. Charlie. Hey, breathe, hon, breathe; you need to breathe. Come on, with me now.” Vaggie squeezed Charlie’s hands and held tight as she inhaled deeply, willing Charlie to breathe with her.</p><p>She wouldn’t let Charlie know, but she was also willing herself to keep calm amid the rising heat.</p><p>Vaggie watched her, never wavering her gaze, as Charlie slowly but surely started to match the even pace of her breathing, measured inhales and prolonged exhales. The heat emanating from her lessened, degree by degree, until finally Vaggie could hold her hands without gritting her teeth through the burn. </p><p>Charlie looked up, finally, after what felt like a lifetime. Her bright innocent eyes were back once again.</p><p>But those bright eyes looked anxiously at her. “Did I…?” Charlie began, barely audible. She looked around, only now registering just how big the mess she made was. Her shoulders sagged, and just like that, all the previous rage disappeared in an instant.</p><p>Vaggie immediately felt foolish. She should have known that the stream of noise that preceded the blast had been a warning.</p><p>Before Vaggie could open her mouth, the elevator dinged, a sound so ordinary it was almost weird to hear it now, and out came Angel Dust, his bathrobe doing a shoddy job at covering his body.</p><p>He looked around excitedly. “I heard explosions and went down as fast as I could!” Angel’s extra pair of arms shot out, fully armed. He looked more than happy to ease a trigger-finger. “Who are we fighting?” he asked.</p><p>It was only then that he took note of Vaggie and Charlie, who probably looked as disheveled as he was, just in a different manner. He then took note that they were pointedly avoiding the nether areas of his lengthy body, specifically at what was being displayed by his state of undress.</p><p>“Oh,” he said, not self-consciously wrapping himself in his bathrobe. If anything, he looked prideful as he did it. His eyes darted to Charlie, and he said bluntly, “Her.” His gaze wandered, and upon seeing the state that the lobby was in, he let out a long low whistle. “The press is gonna get a load of this, princess.”</p><p>Charlie ripped her hand from Vaggie’s grasp and made a small noise of despair against it. Barely coherent under her palm, she wailed, “He’s going to burn this place down.” Then she threw her arms around Vaggie.</p><p>Vaggie caught her just as she caught sight of Alastor sitting not too far from them, sipping from a teacup. His eyes were trained on them over the rim.</p><p>Vaggie threw him a managerial look that asked, ‘Will you help now?’</p><p>The wrecked furniture was already floating, swooping over the heads of mystified guests as chair legs and shredded wood pieced themselves back together. Alastor’s easy grin was in place as he got to his feet, his teacup now absent, and waved a lazy hand in the air. Blocks lifted as the wall patched itself up under his command. </p><p>He cocked his eyebrow at Vaggie, teeth showing in a proud smirk. “Already on it,” said Alastor, looking delighted at his own self.</p><p>Vaggie was only glad Alastor was back to his usual unsettling but chipper nature. She rubbed comforting circles on Charlie’s back as she guided her to the shadow of the wall that remained intact, away from the eyes of curious guests. Gossip travelled fast, and Vaggie wanted no mention of Charlie’s name in it. </p><p>“See? Nobody’s burning this place down. We got it all under control,” attempted Vaggie, hoping deep in her heart she got through Charlie’s obvious internal despair.</p><p>Vaggie couldn’t think of any demon who could make Charlie, the single soul in hell who believed there was a rainbow inside of every demon, wrathful to the point she lost her composure in a violent way as levelling the place. It was unlike anything she had ever seen from Charlie in the past, and she had known Charlie for years. And each second that Vaggie held the snivelling girl in her arms, it became tougher for her to believe that sweet Charlie was even capable of such destructive power.</p><p>“He’s going to visit us soon,” whispered Charlie, so soft that only Vaggie could hear it, as Charlie leaned back against the wall, her eyes shut tightly.</p><p>“Who is, hon?”</p><p>“My father.”</p><p>Vaggie’s breath caught in her throat. Lucifer. So Charlie’s greatest critic was coming to the hotel. It was more akin to Judgement Day than anything else for all of them, but most of all, for his very own daughter, Charlie. Vaggie could only imagine the terrifying things Lucifer had said to her on the phone. </p><p><em>He means well</em>, Charlie had said to Vaggie after his last call, months ago, when the hotel had been nothing more than a dream. Nobody had expected the dream to be realized. <em>It’s just that he gets a little intense at times.</em> Charlie had smiled then, a wistful smile that reminded Vaggie that Charlie had been around far longer than she had been. <em>Especially when it’s about me.</em></p><p>Vaggie sometimes wished that Lucifer was a little gentler with his daughter. But she was wishing on the first fallen angel himself, and thinking about it left her stomach feeling empty.</p><p>She grasped Charlie’s shoulders now. “Whatever your father said this time about you or the hotel, it does not define anything. Not now, not before, not <em>ever.</em> What defines this place is every demon who doesn’t up and leave the next morning. You hear me, Charlie?”</p><p>“Vaggie, I blew up the hotel. If I can’t handle a phone call with him, how much more will I handle a personal visit?”</p><p>“Technically, you blew up the lobby,” said Niffty, who had appeared out of nowhere and was now sweeping up bits and pieces of cement and demon chunks off the floor. She stopped mid-sweep, which was surprising, and grinned at the two girls with her sharp teeth, which was even more surprising. “That was quite the tantrum, Miss Magne. And the mess you made! Dear me, such messy-messy women...”</p><p>Before Vaggie could scold her for her lack of tact, she had already skittered away, cleaning as she went.</p><p>“Vaggie,” said Charlie, looking out toward the lobby with the dwindling mayhem. There were more demons lying spent on the floor than brawling. “The guests—”</p><p>“Will be handled with.”</p><p>“The lobby…?”</p><p>“Will be taken care of by Alastor. Right, Alastor?” she called out.</p><p>Alastor only winked in confirmation. Vaggie followed intent Charlie’s gaze, fixated on the way his finger danced in the air like a conductor who orchestrated broken china and burnt carpet into a symphony of repair.</p><p>“My father…?” said Charlie, not taking her eyes off the Radio Demon.</p><p>“Will hear nothing of today.” Vaggie offered her a smile, shaking her lightly so that Charlie would look at her. “Now go up, you’re spacing out. Get some rest, hon.”</p><p>Charlie leaned her head on Vaggie’s shoulder as they headed for the elevators, which thankfully had been spared. “Maybe dad was right after all,” mumbled Charlie. “Maybe I am not cut out for this.” She punched the button with her finger and waited for one of the elevators to arrive.</p><p>“And maybe that’s just the exhaustion talking,” said Vaggie. “You know Lucifer’s a bully, it’s just a shame he’s a dick even to his own daughter. How does your mom even handle him?”</p><p>The doors to their left parted and Charlie stepped inside. She pressed on the elevator doors’ open-button to keep them from closing in her face. “Oh, she <em>adores</em> him,” she said with a dramatic roll of eyes.</p><p>They laughed together, and the cool refreshing kiss of relief washed over Vaggie.</p><p>Charlie, a cornerstone of the hotel, was back.</p><p>Vaggie wiped her eye and inclined her head, “I’m sorry that he treats you that way, Charlie.”</p><p>Vaggie instantly regretted it the moment it left her mouth. Charlie’s countenance went blank all over, and Vaggie couldn’t correct herself in time before Charlie disappeared behind the closing elevator doors. The dial above the doors moved through the numbers.</p><p>Vaggie stood still, and it was only when a cough beside her sounded that she turned to acknowledge its owner. Angel Dust was still there, standing around looking like a fool, with a lost look that most likely meant, ‘what should I do?’</p><p>“Get dressed properly, Angel,” said Vaggie, exasperated. She punched the call button once more for Angel. “Nobody wants to see your bits.”</p><p>“That’s because most of them have already seen it!” he yelled after her as Vaggie walked away.</p><p>Respite did not come again, despite the knowledge that Charlie was on her way to her rooms. If anything, Vaggie feared she had done the opposite of comforting Charlie.</p><p>She cast a worried look towards the elevators one last time before facing the fiends who had persisted in sustaining the bedlam. Those demons were going to get a reminder of what they were here for.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*throws 1k word semi-action sequence at ao3*</p><p>I must confess, for 15 days a nagging inner voice constantly told me that my 2nd chapter wasn't *chef's kiss*, and so i edited and re-wrote and edited and despaired. And now I present you this! AGAHHAHA</p><p>Hope you enjoyed, and stay tuned for the pwp!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. III | Dream That You Wish</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>The dream starts, as always, in the lobby.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Angel Dust pops open a bottle of champagne, and proudly declares that he stole it from one of his client’s cars, much to Vaggie’s disappointment and Niffty’s horror. Niffty is quick to throw a rag to the floor, where the foaming champagne spills over the lip of the bottle and hurtles to the marble. She looks at Angel, murderous.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The champagne fizzles out the last of its bubbles, but nobody has moved to take a glass. Angel looks at them disapprovingly. “What? None of you want some?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Charlie is the one to break the silence. “Angel," she said, mildly. "What is that for?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He blinks at her. Then moans, “Oh, come on. I’m not—this isn’t—! Come <strong>on! </strong> Not all drinking is bad!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>None of them sound an agreement.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I mean,” he runs a hand through his hair, distinctly perplexed, “you guys took months to prepare for this thing, and-and you all deserve a celebration of some sort, and nobody’s checked in but me so far, and-and this was the only thing I could think of…”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Angel Dust looks so disparaged, almost comically so, complete with tears pooling in his eyes, and Charlie rushes to say something. She catches Vaggie’s disapproving eye. “I guess he’s trying to be good…?” Charlie says, but she’s unsure herself, and the sentence only rises at the last word, turning it into a question.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I am!” Angel Dust wails in the background.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Vaggie doesn’t look convinced.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Charlie tries again. “Wanting to celebrate other’s efforts is something good, isn’t it? Right?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She continues to stare at Vaggie with the most compelling look she can muster, and after a few more moments, Vaggie sighs. “Fine,” grunts Vaggie , snatching the champagne bottle. She glances at Charlie, and Charlie sees that a small smile is already on her lips. “We’ll need more though.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Angel Dust cackles, triumphant, and soon enough the primary staff of the Happy Hotel—Hazbin, Alastor insists—find themselves in an inebriated haze, lounging on one of the larger couch and table ensembles by the massive windows.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I’d kill to have some entertainment right now,” grumbles Husk into his glass.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Niffty giggles. “I bet Mister Alastor can cook us up a nice magic show.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Alastor laughs lightly. Charlie watches curiously as he sets his drink down, pats his hair, then snaps his fingers, and in a rush of wind and sound they’re suddenly standing outside the hotel with their drinks still in hand, ice clinking against the glass. It is quiet in the driveway, nearby establishments and residences already closed for the night, and the furious whisper that Vaggie directs at Alastor echoes against the buildings, <strong>“What are you doing?”</strong></em>
</p><p>
  <em>He pays her no mind, pushing up his sleeves with an amused air, and snaps his fingers once more. They all visibly brace for another teleportation, but it doesn’t happen.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Instead, just resting on the tips of Alastor’s fingers is a red lick of flame, flickering in an unnaturally jerky way. It sparks, yellow bursts of lights popping out of it, much like a—</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“A firework,” realizes Charlie. She looks at Alastor just as he hurls it to the sky. It sings as it rises, impossibly high, and just when they suspect it awkwardly burned out—it explodes, a magnificent blood red starburst of light and sound.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Niffty gasps, jumping on the balls of her feet. “Even better!” She abruptly throws a threatening look at Alastor. “There better not be ashes and cardboard tomorrow morning.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Don’t fret,” Alastor reassures her, sending up another ball of flame. It bursts into vibrant red card symbols that dance around themselves. He grins, and something pangs in Charlie’s chest. “I won’t make anything dirty.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Charlie looks up just as another series of fireworks explode, all of them the shades of red. They were beautiful, but they would look a whole lot better with…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“A little more color,” she murmurs, before she throws a hand up as well, and a stream of gold sparks instead of red tongues of flame hurtles from her outstretched finger and to the sky, and it colors the firmament of hell with bursts of silver and gold among the red of Alastor.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Angel Dust finger-gun shoots at the sky as well, pretending that Alastor and Charlie’s fireworks combined are his, and persuading Husk to look at them, look at them, Husk, look at those, Lucifer’s daughter and Radio Demon my ass, I’m the legendary Porn-star Demon, I’m more powerful than those two, how about you Vaggie LOOK AT ME—ACK!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Charlie doesn’t bother checking what happened, because she catches Alastor staring at her, and when she inclines her head to him he doesn’t look away. She offers him a smile, bemused, and Alastor eases her rising nervousness by smiling back. It’s a unique smile, one she hasn’t seen from him yet. She wonders what it means.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Charlie throws another power-infused missile upward, eyes still intent on Alastor, and he sends a missile of his own upward as well. The two collide and bursts in a gigantic shower of red and gold sparks, and it encompasses the sky way larger than the designated airspace over the hotel, raining down on them in a lazy, beautiful cascade.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Awww.  You two look <strong>adorable,</strong>” coos Angel Dust, who has finally released himself from Vaggie’s chokehold, and rests his cheek on his fist while he stares at the both of them. “But you’d look better exploding your fireworks in me, Bambi.” He says this to Alastor with a little ‘rawr’ at the end, and then winks. Alastor’s smile falters for a split-second, visibly disturbed; it sends Charlie into fits of laughter.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“How do you even know who Bambi is?” Vaggie says. “You’re old.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Angel scoffs, affronted. “I was still alive when Bambi came out, excuse me. Bambi was <strong>my</strong> time.” He nudges Husk, who was nursing a glass with another unidentifiable colored drink, his gaze still trained at the shower of light. “Get a load of this 2010-er.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Husk puts a hand up. He averts his face from Angel Dust and shuts his eyes, as if the mere image of Angel hurt his irises. “Don’t,” he says. “Don’t start now.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Angel characteristically doesn’t listen to him. “Ooh, did I hit a boo-boo? Does the old man not wanna talk about his age? Poor old Huske—”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Husk lunges at Angel Dust, and Angel Dust screams in delight, bounding away and proceeding to run into the hotel, shrieking, “C’mon! Chase me, bad boy! You know I like it fast!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Vaggie yells at him, “Don’t break anything or Alastor’s making a solitary confinement room just for you!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Can you do that?” Charlie asks Alastor.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His lips twitch. “Depending on who’s asking.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“And if I did?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Then I’d make the best one I could provide.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It isn’t romantic, and possibly the worst line that Charlie’s ever heard, given the context, but she’s taken by surprise at the same time it hits her that they had unknowingly moved closer to each other.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’s like she’s watching from outside her own body, as they both regard each other, and she sees Alastor move and Charlie open her mouth to say something, but it’s inaudible, it’s fading out, giving out to the sound of…</em>
</p><p>Knocking. Someone was knocking on the door.</p><p>Charlie was awake. And very disoriented. It was one thing to be awoken by the sound of knocking on the door, and another to be awoken by decidedly <em>determined</em> rapping at the door and finding out you had fallen asleep in a terribly awkward position on a couch.</p><p>The corner of her eyes were crusty as heck with the residue of her tears as she rose from the couch and rubbed the awful crick that savaged her neck like a hellhound gnawing on a bone. One side of her face harbored an uncomfortable tingling, a prickling sensation Charlie did not want happening ever again, and she rubbed at it absently as she stood, joints cracking and muscles tweaking.</p><p>Her drawing room was dark; sunset had come and gone during her fitful sleep, and the drifting curtains, ghostly white, cast flickering shadows on the cold floor. She made her way through the breadth of her rooms—the biggest one in the hotel, appropriately—and the remnants of her dream clung to her mind like the vines of poison ivy; it itched at her, plaguing her to no end until the moment she could distract herself with something else.</p><p>The dream was recurring mainly because it was a memory more than a dream: opening night had been void of guests, but their merrymaking outside the hotel had attracted two the next day, demons who were simply looking for a place to sleep in and had stayed, even up to now. It had made Charlie delirious with joy, and she had even reached the point of being so emotional she had to excuse herself to the bathroom to wipe her happy tears away.</p><p>Now, flashbacks of that night, that night of fireworks and indecipherable looks, haunted her in her dreams.</p><p>Tonight was no exception.</p><p>Another round of knocking came from the door just as Charlie realized she was looking at herself in the mirror in her bathroom, with her hair a mess and an unmistakable trail of drool on her chin. Her eyes, rimmed red with tears shed prior to collapsing on the couch, looked back at her wearily. Charlie desperately wanted to remain in the blissful ignorance of sleep, but long ingrained propriety compelled her to do otherwise.</p><p>She sighed at herself, then shouted a half-annoyed, half-anxious plea at her impatient visitor to wait, before she hurriedly washed her face, tossed a dressing gown over herself, and raced to the peephole, where she pressed her eye to the circular glass, and her eyebrows rose; in a sudden spurt of energy, her hand shot out to the handle and she was wrenching the door open with a frightening urgency that surprised even her.</p><p>Alastor, however, was the more flummoxed of them both.</p><p>One thin eyebrow lifted in his puzzlement. “Excited to see me?” he asked.</p><p>Charlie realized she was gawking at Alastor like she had never seen him before, and she quickly schooled her features into an expression she hoped affected indifference, but it was clear Alastor had seen, and it was clear it was getting to Alastor’s head.</p><p>“Good evening, Alastor,” said Charlie before he could say something haughty. She stole a glance at the clock on the chest of drawers to her side. “Isn’t it a little late?” A yawn languorously made its way out of her mouth, and she barely transferred her hand in time from her painful neck to her gaping mouth.</p><p>“It certainly is! But I had a niggling suspicion there were things here that needed fixing,” told Alastor. Then he asked quite abruptly, “Sleep well, darling?”</p><p>“O-Oh,” mumbled Charlie, already starting to become a bumbling mess. “Yes, I did.” She laughed shakily, now using the door as some sort of shield between her and Alastor. She gripped the edge of it tight. “But the upper floors are fine, Alastor. There’s nothing here for you to—” she broke off, when Alastor idly reached out with his hand and ran the side of his finger, as light as a feather's caress, barely even perceptible, under her eye. In an instant, the tingling sensation, as well as the distinctive after-breakdown ruddiness of her cheeks, lifted like vapor.</p><p>She made a small squeak of surprise when he glided his finger lower, down to her jaw and over the side of her neck, and the awful wringing at the junction of her neck and shoulder was dispelled. He retracted his hand. Charlie could only blink at him.</p><p>“Nothing?” repeated Alastor. Charlie could bet his head had just inflated larger. He was simpering now, the pretentious scoundrel, and Charlie laser-eye focused on the slow smirk that was curving his mouth upward. Was that a tooth she was seeing? Was he biting his lip? Was that something Alastor even did?</p><p>Charlie rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to be so smug about it. But, thank you. You’ve done so much already—especially the lobby,” she flushed, and began to drivel out, “which, by the way, I’m so <em>so</em> terribly sorry for. And <em>Vaggie.</em> Oh, no, is she—? I never meant to—”</p><p>Alastor shushed her. “Apology accepted!” he adjourned. “Vaggie is playing the role of disciplinarian as we speak, which I presume, she means to do by herself, knowing what state you are in right now. So do not fret nor relive it, darling! What’s done is done! You’ll only hurt yourself in the process.”</p><p>He made it sound like the process was getting hit over the head by a metal pole rather than a raging onslaught of flashbacks to the events of that afternoon, and how she should have done this, shouldn’t have done that, could have, would hav—but he was right. She would rather the bludgeon than the avalanche for thoughts.</p><p>Alastor gave her a strange kind of smile—one that, if she didn’t know any better, would seem like any other smile of his—and leaned on his microphone stand that previously hadn't been there. He was still in the same wine red waistcoat as this afternoon’s, and Charlie suddenly felt a little more exposed in the long pale nightgown she wore under her silk robe. It was by pure luck she had pulled the dark one off its hook in the bathroom; the devil knew how uncomfortable she would have been if she had plucked the flimsy one of hers instead.</p><p>She angled her body even more strategically behind the door, but under Alastor’s heavy gaze, she knew repressing the blush threatening to show was useless.</p><p>“You’ve gone awfully silent,” observed Alastor in a voice Charlie was crazy to think was lower an octave. “Pennies are cheap payment for your thoughts,” he said, still with his unwavering gaze, “and I wouldn’t wish it on my enemies: to be plagued by their own treacherous minds. Perhaps you’d like a distraction tonight?”</p><p>Charlie made a noise of distress.</p><p>“Which,” Alastor continued, looking at her darkly, “I can surely provide.”</p><p>She was so flustered she could feel her entire body on fire like she was being cooked in an oven, and she mentally cursed, <em>Alastor, damn you to the ninth circle and back!</em> He couldn’t have said it normally, like a normal non-suggestive demon, could’ve he? Charlie wasn’t even sure if he was aware of how downright inviting that sounded, coming out of his mouth—</p><p>Charlie all of a sudden darted behind the door, out of Alastor’s intense look, and into her room, internally shrieking at herself. She was blushing so <em>hard</em> and she needed to <em>stop</em>—she needed to stop being a fool this instant. Just hours ago she was a rabid demoness on self-destruct mode and now she was a mess, a silly god-awful mess. <em>Pull yourself together!</em></p><p>Alastor sounded confused. And concerned. “Charlie?” he said by the door.</p><p>From where she was taking an intermission in the dark of her own drawing room, Charlie could see the top of Alastor’s head as he attempted to peer in. There was a mirror beside her, mounted on the wall, and she put her hair up in a bun, saying, “Yes! I mean, wait—no, yes! <em>Yes!</em> I’d like something to do tonight.” Then she raced to the door once more.</p><p>“Um…” started Charlie, unexpectedly feeling silly in her bedroom slippers. “Do I have to change?” Why hadn’t she just changed <em>before</em> she had returned?</p><p>Alastor’s mouth curled into a smile that could tumble walls—at least, Charlie’s walls. “Not if you’re comfortable in that around the hotel.” Charlie started to move back into the room. “We won’t be running into any of our guests tonight,” Alastor assured her. “I promise you.”</p><p>Charlie sighed in relief and in frustration at herself. Her mind was all over the place tonight.</p><p>Alastor only chuckled and held out a hand, and Charlie was about to take it when an image burst and hovered over his palm. It flickered, like a flame, and Charlie realized that indeed it was a flame, not unlike the ones he had used to make fireworks; but this flame apparently had a different purpose—an image of a room was clear within its fiery enclosure, and Charlie leaned closer to take a look at it better.</p><p>“Do you remember the ballroom we started on a month ago?” said Alastor as Charlie studied the image. The room was vast, with a ceiling that arched high overhead and thin, long windows that ran the length of one wall. Wooden boards were nailed to the windows, covering them and letting in little light, and it was then that Charlie noticed the room was unkempt. Abandoned-looking even. “Well, this is it now—untouched and waiting to be furnished.” Alastor furled his fingers over the picture of the room, and it winked out of existence.</p><p>Alastor continued, “It’s waiting for us, dearest Charlie,” and grinned. “Now. Come.” He put out his hand, empty this time, for Charlie to take. She stared at it for a moment, her dark eyes tracing the lines of long-healed scars over his bare arms, then looked up at Alastor.</p><p>“So much fanfare for such a small excursion to the ballroom. Charming,” Charlie teased. “But, alright.” Charlie laughed quietly.</p><p>She brought her hand to rest on his, stepping out of her room and locking the door behind her, and was pleasantly shocked to find that his palm was still warm from the flame. Its surface was rough, marred by one long slash across the middle that she noticed curled over to the back of his hand, and she itched to run her fingers over the length of it, to see how far it went; but his own fingers were already curling over her smaller, more delicate hand. He lifted his microphone stand from the floor, and with a quick tap against the floor, there was suddenly darkness.</p><p>It couldn’t have happened for more than a second, a millisecond even, but Charlie, blind in between the threads of shadows and space, felt the lack of a weight over her hand and realized in numbing, petrified shock that he was gone. Alastor was gone, and Charlie was alone—in the dark, and with no means out. For a terrifying moment, Charlie believed Alastor had left her there.</p><p>Then the next moment, her feet landed on the floor with a hollow sound, and her knees almost gave out, half from the sudden impact and half from terror. Her hands shot out to steady herself, but they closed on nothing, and she fell, her knees and palms slamming onto hard wooden floors. She gasped in pain. Orbs of light danced in her vision, which was rendered hazy and dark like when she would dig her palms too hard into her eyes, and she knew that she was saying something, aware of the movement of her mouth, but her ears could not pick up the words being said.</p><p><em>“Charlie?”</em> Alastor’s voice was far from her. Heavy, frantic footsteps sounded to her right, and they were coming closer. Charlie pushed on the floor with her arms and settled on her haunches like a limp marionette, its strings cut and discarded to the floor. She was gripping the cloth of her dressing gown so tight that her nails were stinging crescents in her palms. Her sight was returning, though not yet completely, and she saw Alastor kneel in front of her just as she felt him rest his hands on her shoulders. Charlie started.</p><p>“Charlie,” he said again, gentler and less fraught with distress. She peered at Alastor with strain through her hazy vision, and realized just then that she was seeing perfectly clearly now; it was only that the lights in the ballroom were turned off—no: nonexistent. The place was wrapped in darkness but for the Hellish glow of the neon signs and glaring billboards outside, as they filtered through the wooden planks that boarded up the windows.</p><p>Charlie could feel the light brush of his thumbs through her silk robe as he said, “Entirely sorry, dearest; I underestimated the wards I put around this place.” He tittered mildly. “Typical of me,” he said, almost to himself.</p><p>Through the slats of two wooden planks, a strobe of silver, almost white, streaked over his face as he leaned forward and lifted his fingers once again to her face. Charlie was silent, watching him, as he lightly stroked her cheek and moved away the stray strands of her hair that had fallen from her bun, and tucked them behind her ear. His voice lowered, and his usually unreadable expression softened just the tiniest bit when he asked her, “Are you alright, my dear?”</p><p>Alastor was too near. He was so near, and Charlie was highly aware that he was touching her in a way that felt intimate, even more than when he had pulled her to him, at the staircase. Her breath came out of her in faint pants, and Charlie saw his line of sight lower, slowly, to her parted lips.</p><p>“You…” began Charlie. <em>You let go of me</em>, was what she wanted to say. <em>I thought you left me there. <strong>There was nothing there.</strong></em> But the accusation did not leave her mouth. It wouldn't. She couldn't.</p><p>Instead, she was distracted by the way his eyes were trained on her lips. Like he wanted to…</p><p>In spite of everything, a small shiver of delight ran up her spine.</p><p>No. She shouldn’t allow herself.</p><p>“I’m okay, Alastor,” said Charlie, shedding the exhilarating moment she just had, that small tingle she would get whenever he would do something he almost wasn’t aware of, and that she was allowed to witness. “You just scared me, that’s all.”</p><p>“Scared you?”</p><p>He had lifted his eyes, and with the streak of silver light that ran across his face and colored him into a softer Alastor, an Alastor she imagined would have existed if the world hadn’t been cruel and unfair, Charlie feared she would never want to look at anything else.</p><p>With great effort, Charlie wrapped her fingers around Alastor’s wrists and lifted them from her shoulders. “A little bit. Now, pull me up,” she demanded, but she was still so breathless that it came out no louder than a hushed request. “Please.” Alastor did as he was told and lifted her to her feet, where she immediately let go of him and whirled around, her hands still tingling from the contact. She didn’t see the way his arms fell limp to his sides.</p><p>She was already strolling towards a boarded up window. Memories of opening night again flickered behind her eyes; the incident at the staircase; and just now, with the way Alastor had looked at her, and she shut her eyes against them, as if that would work, as she gripped one of the larger boards and pried it off with all her strength. It surprisingly came off; albeit with an ugly sound.</p><p>“There,” she said, dropping it to the floor. “Now we can see better.”</p><p>“Do you plan on doing that with all the windows?” he asked wryly. Alastor approached her, and they looked out the gaping rectangular hole in the wall. Charlie was only glad he was back to his cheeky self. Perhaps it was only her who had felt any different when he knelt before her.</p><p>“Of course not.” She turned to smile at Alastor. “That’s why I have you here,” Charlie said, and despite the draft that had nothing to do with how cold she had become, the familiar excitement to fix up the hotel coursed through her once more. It had been so long since they worked on the hotel's interior together. “What do you say we pushed the windows back, made each of them an alcove, and turned the frames gold?”</p><p>“Well, isn’t this task making you sprightful? Gold frames it is: an excellent start,” said Alastor, pushing on a plank. It gave way to his touch, and every single one of them from one end of the wall to the other fell off, bursting into ashes as they fell, and the wall moved away from his hand, forming recesses in the wall; and the window of each alcove warbled in appearance, before it flashed in a burst of soft red light from being mere holes in the wall, to being glass encased in gold frames. “And perhaps we could paper the walls something bright for a change,” he said, finishing.</p><p>Charlie bit her lip in astonishment. This was part of why she loved working on the hotel—Alastor’s insight and power was an amazing thing to behold. “That's actually lovely,” she remarked. “But what color do you have in mind?”</p><p>Alastor flashed her a roguish grin. “The color of your hair.”</p><p>Charlie turned her face away to hide her blush as Alastor put his hand to the wall, and it unfurled like a flower beneath his fingers to reveal filigreed paper the color of summer and wheat.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Alastor lounged with a leg crossed atop the other on a bench nestled in an alcove as Charlie spun round and round beneath a massive golden chandelier. Her dressing robe billowed around her like a ball gown would, a soft twinkling giggle rose from her, and she attempted to press the cloth down like a Marilyn Monroe in a messy blonde bun and fuzzy slippers that slapped all too noisily against the glimmering marble floor.</p><p>Alastor couldn’t tear his eyes away.</p><p>Charlie ceased twirling around in glee quite suddenly, and stood still in the center of the ballroom with her back to him. Alastor perked up slightly at her change in disposition. Was there something wrong?</p><p>“This reminds me so much of my childhood,” whispered Charlie, but it was just them in the expansive emptiness of the ballroom, and her voice echoed against its walls. “Hell was closer to Victorian England back then, when I was a kid," she began to explain. "Dad would teach me how to dance in the ballroom at home.” Her feet took two smooth steps to the right, in rhythm to a tune Alastor couldn't hear, and soon his gaze was following her body move like slow honey across the floor, her eyes closed, and her lips, holding a faint smile. “We were happy then.”</p><p>Charlie brought her hands up and, with a slow ease in time with her movements—a waltz, Alastor could surmise just by watching her—she lightly traced the air. The space towards one end of the room shimmered, and figures—four of them, outlined in the same gold Charlie’s fireworks had been infused with during opening night—materialized like faceless shades, intangible and not completely there, but still visible. With a snap of Charlie’s fingers, instruments appeared in their hands and a slow melody began to play.</p><p>Alastor was openly staring at her. “You rarely use your powers,” he observed.</p><p>“That’s because they manifested too late for me to hone them.” Charlie’s eyes flew open, and for a brief second, she was staring right at him just as he was at her, before she executed a graceful turn that made her dressing robe swell around her long legs once more. “We waited for them,” she said, with an air of sad wistfulness that hadn't been there before. “And waited. And waited. Until they eventually did show up. But by then,” her steps slowed to a halt; Alastor couldn’t see her face, but it was only for the heavy rise and fall of her shoulders that he could guess what Charlie’s expression was, “Lucifer had already lost interest in me.”</p><p>“So you never had the chance to master them,” assumed Alastor.</p><p>Charlie shook her head, strands of her hair falling out of her bun. “I became bitter about it. It felt like a slap to my face more than an achievement. I had gotten through two and a half decades of my life without them, I was sure I could go through the rest of it the same way.” She made her way to Alastor, shrugging nonchalantly. “Now I just use them for fun.”</p><p>She had stopped right in front of him, and because he was seated and she was not, Alastor tilted his chin up to look at her properly. “How about you?” she inquired quite suddenly, and Alastor’s eyebrows rose in mild surprise. “What about your childhood?”</p><p>The sound of a shotgun firing once, pausing, and then firing two more shots echoed in his ears. A phantom sound. Alastor leaned back on his arms and feigned composure. “What about it?” he asked.</p><p>Charlie made a small sound of exasperation and flopped down on the space beside him. Her scent wafted to him as she moved. She smelled like caramel and apples. “Don’t be daft,” admonished Charlie, pulling up her legs underneath her. “Don’t you remember anything about being a kid?”</p><p>The sound of a woman. Screaming. </p><p>“You know,” went on Charlie, and she sounded much, much farther away than where she really was, “back when the world was kinder?”</p><p>Alastor clamped his eyes shut, willed the wailing to stop, and made himself hum, as if in thought. “My uncle,” he said finally after a long pause, “would take me with him to the woods. To look at the animals. I wasn’t more than five.”</p><p>When Alastor opened his eyes, Charlie was in the middle of a yawn. A huffed laugh of disbelief escaped him.</p><p>“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she clamored, wiping her eyes. “You’re not boring or anything, Al, it’s just that—” she broke off in another yawn, to which Alastor regarded with more humor “—oh, dammit, I’m tired.” She laughed at herself, her head kind of lolling to the side and her cheeks growing pink, and something in Alastor’s chest constricted. He could only manage a smile as he tried to breathe evenly.</p><p>In the distance, the clock tower chimed eleven.</p><p>At last, Charlie calmed down. She regarded him, and said, matter-of-factly, “It’s late.”</p><p>Alastor was only glad to be moving on from reminiscent conversation. He got to his feet and dusted off the front of his waistcoat. “Indeed, it is. I hate to cut this lovely activity short, darling, but I regret that I have somewhere to be tomorrow morning.”</p><p>“In the morning?” yawned Charlie. “Why so early?”</p><p>Alastor gave her a cool smile. “Every man has his secrets. So,” he said, and held out his hand.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Shall we?”</p><p>Charlie shrank away, looking at it like it was pointing a knife at her rather than holding nothing. Now that she knew travelling through the shadows wasn’t as foolproof as Alastor made it look like, she wasn’t too sure about doing it again. “Oh, <em>no</em>, we shall not. Can’t we take the elevator?” she pleaded, giving him a sort of sad puppy-eye look. “You know, like normal demons?”</p><p>He didn't look too offended. “We’re hardly normal demons, dear,” he said, as Charlie took his hand and pulled herself up instead. He then offered the crook of his arm. “But the elevator involves walking.” He almost sounded sullen.</p><p>Charlie stifled a laugh. “Yes, it does involve walking, you lazy idiot.” They left the ballroom and made their way through the empty hallway arm in arm, and Charlie had the fleeting memory of being walked through the streets of Hell like this, back when she was in the height of the Pentagram’s Victorian era, with its gloomy London-esque cobblestone streets and unforgiving weather.</p><p>A rather rambunctious scuttling from behind them broke her out of her reverie. Charlie turned her head over her shoulder, and saw Niffty was barreling through the hallway with a mop in one hand and a bucket sloshing mop water in the other. For her size and short stature, she was surprisingly deft at lugging them, and she maneuvered past Charlie and Alastor with professional skill.</p><p>“Good evening, Mister Alastor, Sir! Miss Charlie!” she greeted, not the least breathless.</p><p>“Slow down, darling!” called out Alastor with mirth. Niffty was already through the doors to the service hallway. “You're going to create a twister in here!”</p><p>Her head popped out, and her face split into a wide grin, all sharp teeth. “Very unlikely, Sir, but thank you for the concern!” And then she left.</p><p>Charlie turned on Alastor with a theatrical gasp. They were already by the guest elevators. “You told me we wouldn’t pass anyone downstairs!” she upbraided him.</p><p>“At the time,” Alastor began to reason out, “I thought we were going to use the much quicker and discreet way of travelling. The one that you rejected.”</p><p>Charlie bumped his hip with hers, and Alastor may have stumbled to the side a bit, and it was probably only for their interlocked arms that he didn’t crash into the console table to their left. Charlie hid a coquettish smile while he recollected himself, glaring down at her, and pressed the button for the elevator, which let them in in no time at all.</p><p>The ride up the elevator was quiet, and so was the walk to her doors. But Charlie nor Alastor didn’t seem to mind. Alastor, in fact, seemed to enjoy the amiable silence, and so did she. The night had gone long enough, and Charlie knew she shouldn’t keep Alastor, but the small selfish part of her wished he could stay a little later than usual.</p><p>“In retrospect,” Alastor said, when Charlie had unlocked her doors and reached inside to turn on the lights. She turned, and saw that Alastor was leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, and it did wonderful things to his arms, still half-covered in his scrunched up shirtsleeves.  “I don’t think anyone has ever called me an idiot before.”</p><p>“Or maybe there’s no one left alive to tell the tale.”</p><p>Alastor shrugged. “That could be true. But that would only mean I’d have to extinguish you at once.”</p><p>“Is that supposed to make me afraid?” inquired Charlie, lifting one haughty eyebrow in challenge. She situated herself against the side of the open door, and she stared down Alastor, whose eyes seemed to glow as he countered her with a stare of his own. The warm yellow light of the sconce behind him cast his figure into shadow, so that he was silhouetted before Charlie, a tall and dark menacing silhouette that Charlie had grown fond of over the past months, whether she liked it or not.</p><p>Alastor chuckled once. “Perhaps not, since being the child of Lucifer weathers you against these types of threats.” His eyes flashed in the dark. “But to be fair to us other demons, your father isn’t the only one who does the frightening in Hell.”</p><p>Charlie suddenly froze. He had meant nothing of it, but a discordant chord struck inside of her that reminded her of her father's threat, made hours ago on the phone, and it wrenched the smile clean off her face just as quickly as it had come. It felt like ripping off a strip of duct-tape from her mouth. </p><p><em>Or I'm burning it to the ground with my own two hands.</em> Everything afterwards just turned bleak.</p><p>Alastor’s sharp-eyed gaze took notice, and his brows furrowed the slightest. He then started to say, cautiously, “It was your father on the phone,” he said, putting two and two together with that brilliant mind of his, “wasn’t it?”</p><p>Charlie did not give him an answer, and instead, let an unhappy smile stretch across her face. “Good night, Alastor,” she said simply. </p><p>Alastor did not ask any further, but only inclined his head and replied, “Good night, Charlie.” He turned for the hallway—and stopped, his gaze falling on her. “I apologize,” he told her lowly. “For what I said. It was uncalled for.”</p><p>She did not expect the shame to wash over her so quickly, overwhelming in the hot wave it covered her body in. She didn't want tonight to end badly, when Alastor—the most likely of him and her to end things badly—had tried to cheer her up in his own unique way.</p><p>Alastor. Who she was beginning to understand despite everyone telling her he was an enigma impossible to decipher. Alastor. Who evaporated all train of thought and made her body alight when he did so little as lightly touch her. Alastor. Who was kind to her despite everyone telling her he was the complete opposite.</p><p>She was going to feel horrible if she let him walk away before she could do something to redeem the night.</p><p>And so she rose on her tiptoes and laid a hand on Alastor’s shoulder to help her up, and she meant to give him a peck on the cheek, chaste, if not fond; in apology; but Alastor had not been paying heed, already starting for the corridor, and Charlie’s hand coming to rest on his shoulder must have made Alastor think she was doing so to get his attention, and he turned his face towards her, so that Charlie’s lips grazed his cheek instead, landed right on his lips, and they were kissing.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*finger-gun shoots at you*</p><p>Also, do hit that kudos button! Comment! Don't be shy, I dont bite ;) AHAHHA</p><p>This chap was SOOO long so I had to cut it, but I've got the next chapters nice and set up already so fingers crossed updates wont be so sporadic and my promises wont be so full of lieiiiees anymore</p><p>all the love, stay safe everyone!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. IV | Sweet like Cherry Wine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><strong>Warning!</strong><br/>explicit kissy scene ahead, proceed with caution if you must</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They were kissing, but it was generous to say that: because for the flitting moment that their lips touched, Charlie thought that he was veritably offended, for his lips were hard and resistant, stubbornly seamed shut; warding her off.</p><p>In her genuine shock, Charlie stumbled forward, and Alastor’s arms automatically went around her waist, solid, just as he had on the staircase, and Charlie fell against him.</p><p>She had never recoiled so fast before, but she did, and even with the lingering sensation of his mouth on hers making her entire body tingle, her lips were starting to form the beginnings of a hastily-made apology—anything to say sorry; anything to not let him think she did it on purpose; to not let him know how much she had always wished this would happen, but on entirely different circumstances—when Alastor suddenly tugged her, pulling her flush against him, and pressed his mouth to hers in earnest.</p><p>Starlight burst behind Charlie’s eyelids; brighter than the fireworks of opening night, louder even; and with the colors of the rainbow and everything in between, the world fell away around her.</p><p>Her head spun with every caress of Alastor's lips over hers, every incredibly soft tug of her bottom lip between his; she barely registered Alastor moving them both and leaning against the wall. She returned his kiss with fervor, bumping his nose accidentally with hers, feverish in her excitement and relief. She giggled, entirely due to her own nervousness, but Alastor clutched Charlie closer, and she almost melted in the warmth of his arms. It was like a reassurance to her quaking nerves, and she wound her arms around his neck.</p><p>Charlie had forgotten what it felt like to be kissed. She had forgotten the one of a kind sensation of lips pressed to another. The lightness of it. The softness of it.</p><p>She never could have associated all those with Alastor.</p><p>Their chests were touching, and Charlie felt the thrum of his heart just as he could probably feel hers. He adjusted himself on the wall, and his head tilted to the side, deepening the kiss.</p><p>Charlie could barely think about the rest of her surroundings, barely even remember what Lucifer had said to her. The nerve-endings and synapses in her body were too overwhelmed for her to make sense of anything other than his arms encircled around her, her body pressed to his, and Alastor’s lips deliciously on hers.</p><p>She luxuriated in it, every tender suckle and press. Charlie kissed him in kind—wanting to give back, wanting to let him know just how much she had always dreamt of this beneath her carefully placed restraint, the same restraint Alastor effortlessly tested every moment they were in proximity of each other.</p><p>Charlie wondered if she tested his restraint as well.</p><p>It ended all too soon, when they had to break away for air, their lips separating with a soft <em>smack!</em> that tingled merrily in an uncharted part of Charlie’s brain; but they remained in each other’s embrace. Their breaths mingled. Neither of them wanted to stray too far from the other.</p><p>Alastor’s expression was surprisingly solemn when he murmured, “I should have asked for your permission.”</p><p>“And I can't believe we're kissing," Charlie said, out of breath. "I’ll admit you surprised me," she traced the curve of his jaw with her finger, “but my going through with it was permission enough.”</p><p>“That doesn’t make me any less worried.”</p><p>She was oddly flattered, being the object of his worry, but she didn’t want him to fret over her. Charlie kissed him on the lips again, a soft innocent one that smoothed the almost invisible downturned edges of his mouth. Alastor made a low appreciative sound from the back of his throat, and when she withdrew, his eyes were dark.</p><p>“We’ll do it again, then,” Charlie declared, “for your sound of mind, lest your demons come to haunt you in your sleep.” She eyed him incredulously. “Assuming you have any demons.”</p><p>Alastor was sliding one hand to her hip. “That is, also, assuming that I sleep.”</p><p>Charlie was laughing as she let herself be pulled even closer to him, so that she could feel every inch of his long and lean body aligned with hers. How free she felt: being held like this, touched like this; like she was liberated from the prison of her fears. She felt like she could take on whatever.</p><p>She tilted her chin up to look him in the eye, and with an almost commanding air, she said, “Go on—ask me again.”</p><p>His other hand came up to rest on her cheek, and it hurt, it hurt because he was being so gentle with her—this murderous powerful overlord of Hell had the strength to level cities and yet, here he was, touching her with the delicateness of a man admiring porcelain. His voice was rough when he spoke, “May I surprise you once more?”</p><p>Charlie’s lips turned up the slightest. “Depends.” She leaned into his palm, looking up at him. “Sometimes your surprises are frightening.”</p><p>His thumb was playing with her lower lip lightly, and she was aching, silently begging for her lips to be touched by his already. Alastor began to lean in, ever so slowly, and purred out, “Do I frighten you?”</p><p>Charlie’s hands slid down to his chest, where the hammering of his heart beat under her palms, and Alastor’s gaze was heavy on hers, so heavy with want, want for her, and her eyes fell shut on their own accord as she answered, “You do. Very, very much.” </p><p>Charlie didn’t know who moved first.</p><p>It could have been the both of them, in sync, as though there was a string between them that suddenly pulled taut and united them in a cascade of long restrained desire. But whoever it had been, she was very thankful that they were kissing again.</p><p>This kiss was searing in its intensity, and it cut through her like a knife—like the sharp pain of jumping into cold water from a cliff; deep unknown waters that were Alastor, exhilarating and frightening all at the same time. But she fell to him with no holds barred.</p><p>His lips were devastatingly soft as they molded with hers, pressing into hers, working them open with his tongue that she gave access to, parting her lips. Charlie reached up and curled her fingers in the long red strands of his hair, and she tugged at them experimentally, just to see his reaction, and was extremely pleased to hear, or rather, <em>feel</em> the low rumble that emanated from his chest.</p><p>Alastor moved, swift and quiet, and had her pinned to the wall with his lithe body, ravishing her mouth like it was the first drop of water after a journey across a desert, or the last sip of a sweet, rare drink.</p><p>Alastor tasted wonderful himself, as his tongue explored the inside of her mouth. Her tongue met his, and they kissed like that: sultry, a slow erotic dance that was warm and wet. He was sweet like cherry wine, Charlie thought through the haze; wine as red as the dark of his hair, the heat that rushed through their bodies, and the blood that he spilled on the streets of Hell.</p><p>And just like with any vice, she wanted more.</p><p>Charlie couldn’t imagine a man more terrifying to hold in her arms.</p><p>Alastor bent low, caged around her, and his lips transferred to the bare skin of her neck, languorously sucking and nipping and licking down to the curve of her shoulder, where he dragged the robe down with his hand so that he could pass his lips over her heated skin, covered by a single thin strap of her nightgown.</p><p>She quivered in his arms, legs going weak as he pressed fluttering kisses on her bare skin. “Alastor,” Charlie gasped, and she felt him only hum in reply. “Alastor, wait,” she said more urgently this time. She hissed at him, “Alastor, we’re <em>outside.</em>”</p><p>Alastor took away his mouth from her shoulder, chuckling lowly, and oh, how Charlie wanted to smack him. Affectionately.</p><p>The floor was mercifully empty, but Charlie couldn’t exactly have herself brought to pieces in a place where anyone could literally walk in on them. It was a hallway, for the devil’s sake. They would be the first thing to see.</p><p>Charlie still had her hands in his hair, and Alastor had his on her waist, his fingers playing with the silk ribbon of her robe. He allowed no space between their bodies, and Charlie was more than aware of how sinfully hot it had become.</p><p>Alastor leaned close. “Is your room open?”</p><p>Charlie was breathless. <em>“Yes.”</em></p><p>They stumbled out of the hallway and through her doors in a hurried mess, barely closing the doors on their way in, and found themselves falling onto one of the upholstered sofas in Charlie’s drawing room.</p><p>Charlie gasped as she hit the cushion, and Alastor didn’t miss a beat, crawling over her to connect their lips again. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, and Charlie moaned. He explored the inside; the back of her teeth, the roof of her mouth, her own tongue that he gladly pushed against. It was a frantic dance, one that Charlie was more than happy to participate in. </p><p>Their hands travelled, on collarbones and midsections and chests. In each other’s hair, their clothes; grasping and clutching and touching. They reveled in the sensation of the other; something new, something delightful, something worth exploring in the future. Charlie was floating at the prospect of a future.</p><p>Charlie’s made quick work of the buttons of his waistcoat, and she was slinging it across the room in a moment. Her arms wrapped around his lean body, her fingers dipping between his shoulder blades and down along his spine, his shirt smooth against her fingertips. Alastor quivered under her touch, and her body flared with hot blood. He held her lip between his teeth and gave it a purposeful tug. Charlie let out an appreciative noise.</p><p>Alastor kissed her almost desperately, like she was going to disappear any second—like he couldn’t have enough of her. And perhaps he couldn’t, Charlie thought between every single thing she was trying to feel. Perhaps he was as silently infatuated with her as she was with him. Perhaps he had been waiting all this time, all these weeks, for exactly this. How quaintly romantic, if that were the case.</p><p>Then Alastor was bringing his lips carefully to the pulse point at the side of her neck, and he sucked and nipped and kissed the area tenderly. She gasped out his name as her head fell back. His mouth went lower, to the line of her collarbone, exposed from their constant moving and writhing, and he deftly undid the tie of her silk robe and let it fall open on the couch. He reared back as it spilled around her, his arms braced on either side of her, and in this brief reprieve, catching their breath, Charlie saw the flash in his eyes as he took all of her in.</p><p>She was in a modest slip, and Charlie wouldn’t even call the lace trimming on the neckline raunchy—it was so old there were tiny rips along the meshwork, and the bodice of it didn’t even hug her as tightly as it used to. But Alastor gaze was hotly intent on her, and where he laid his eyes on her body flared in response, and soon enough Charlie was squirming under him, tugging him down to her with a soft whine.</p><p>Alastor lowered his lips to the swell of her breasts, just above the lace, and Charlie drew in a shuddering breath. Goosebumps flared along her arms. She felt so exposed this way; felt even more sinful than if he had pulled her nightgown down to her belly and bared herself to him. Alastor skimmed his tongue over the curve of her breast, nipped at the skin, kissed where he bit, and Charlie’s came up again to twist in the back of Alastor’s shirt, to hold onto something. Her chest was heaving. She felt so hot. It was madness. </p><p>“Alastor,” she whispered when his lips went down to the dip of her nightgown’s neckline. His lips were so warm on her cold skin. Alastor was nestled between her raised knees, and she was tugging on his hair gently, urging him to kiss her on the lips again. “Alastor,” she repeated.</p><p>He understood, and he claimed her lips once again. The hem of Charlie’s nightgown fell from her ankles to her hips when Alastor took hold of the back of her knee and wrapped her leg around him, letting the cold air bite her skin, the soft flesh of the back of her thigh, and Charlie keened. Her hands wound tightly in the soft material of his shirt, and how she longed to pull it over his head.</p><p>But Alastor was already hooking her other leg around his waist, and Charlie barely had time to pull him close before she was being lifted in his arms, his breath hot on her skin, and she was being brought to her bedroom.</p><p> </p><p>Alastor had been awake for quite some time.</p><p>But it was more an internal sensation than a physical blockade that stayed him from rising—his entire being thrummed with adrenaline that hadn’t subsided, a completely different adrenaline high he discovered he enjoyed reveling in, no matter that it had persisted even after they had fallen asleep in each other’s arms and he had woken up. It pumped along with his heart, and he hummed from the inside out.</p><p>Charlie was—much to his pride’s relief—oblivious to Alastor’s experiencing the after effects of their passionate embrace. She slept as undisturbed as a flower on a windless day, and with her doll-like features, one would be fooled to think she was a statue of a woman in peaceful slumber; until they saw the steady rise and fall of her breathing.</p><p>Alastor wanted nothing more than to stay there, beside Charlie, but his stomach was empty and had been for two days and it had finally had enough and was starting to eat itself if he didn’t eat another’s anytime soon.</p><p>He started to slip out from under the covers and onto the edge of the bed, slow and watchful of Charlie, when she shifted.</p><p>“Alastor?”</p><p>Swiftly, Alastor bent low to press a kiss to her temple, and even then his lips still lingered; his nose pressed to the sweet flowery scent of her hair. When he pulled back, one of his hands relinquished the feeling of her skin against his, rough in comparison with hers, and combed through the soft golden tresses. “I must go, <em>ma belle,</em>” he whispered to her.</p><p>“Already?” she asked in disguised protest, looking at him with eyes, though undoubtedly bleary with sleep, that begged him to stay. She glanced at the clock. “What kind of appointment is scheduled when it’s still dark, anyway?” She wasn’t really expecting an answer, Alastor surmised, because even before she finished she was reaching out to him with a lazily outstretched arm. She grabbed hold of his dress shirt, unbuttoned and crumpled from sleeping on it, and groggily groaned out, “Hold me a little while longer,” but even as she said it, she was already halfway through closing her eyes.</p><p>Alastor brought a lock of her hair to his lips and kissed it. He let it drop to her pale shoulder, exposed by the blanket, and took her hand, the one holding his shirt, and laid tender kisses on each knuckle—adoring and reverent.</p><p>Charlie groaned again, in annoyance this time, and tugged him closer. “My lips are here, Alastor.”</p><p>Defeated, Alastor let himself be pulled to her. He kissed Charlie on the mouth, and he was overcome once more by the rush of adrenaline, and he kissed her even more fervidly, so passionately that even she had to push him away afterwards, now fully awake, lest she be smothered. “Holy…” she breathed, and Alastor took note of the glittering in her eye. “That was amazing. Give me another.”</p><p>She tried to pull him closer for just that, but Alastor swiftly angled his face and kissed her on the cheek instead. “Save some for next time, love,” he murmured, his lips brushing faintly across her skin, and he felt Charlie tremble under him. She mumbled a disappointed, ‘fine,’ in response.</p><p>Satisfied with their compromise, Alastor rose from the bed and padded out barefoot to the drawing room, where he retrieved his waistcoat lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, and returned to the bedroom. Charlie was now sitting up in bed, and her dark expressive eyes followed him as he entered and leaned against the drawers directly across, buttoning up his shirt.</p><p>“You can go back to sleep if you wish to,” said Alastor, finishing with his buttons. He took his waistcoat which he had slung on the edge of the bed and slipped his arms in. “I won’t be returning ‘til late morning.”</p><p>“That’s all right,” replied Charlie. The only light that filled the room was that of the bathroom’s, which had already been on when he had carried her in, and it hit her now at an angle that framed her figure in a soft white corona—and in her silvery peignoir and with her long pale locks thrown over one shoulder, she was ethereal. Alastor looked away. “I don’t think,” Charlie concluded, “I’ll be sleeping anymore.”</p><p>His vest was buttoned and his shoes were on and Alastor was about done and ready to take his leave when Charlie beckoned him, quite demurely, with a coy smile that transitioned to a bite of her lip and an alluring look, to the foot of the bed. Alastor found himself obliging—when he was most of the time disobliging to everyone in the hotel (perhaps, save Charlie)—and as he stood there, Charlie pulled the covers off her legs and made her way to him on her knees. Alastor was rapt with attention, his stare transfixed at the languid way she moved across the bed.</p><p>It was astounding to Alastor how Charlie could hide this sensual side of hers under her usual façade of innocence, and how  she had everyone terribly, terribly fooled.</p><p>She knelt in front of him, taking hold of his face, and lifted her lips to his.</p><p>Alastor couldn’t resist, slipping his hands around her waist and returning her kiss, as languid as her movements. It was soft, and slow, but with the undeniable undercurrent of heat that simmered beneath, and it would render them on the bed once more if they were to give into its tide.</p><p>Just as Alastor was on the last few threads of his restraint—which was, until then, admirably steadfast—Charlie broke away and sank to the bed with a pleased look on her face. Satiated, she said, “Good night, Alastor.”</p><p><em>Why, what a daring creature</em>, Alastor thought to himself, bade her a good night with a kiss atop her forehead despite it already being the wee hours of morning, and slipped out of her doors and into the corridor unnoticed. </p><p> </p><p>Unnoticed by everyone but Vaggie.</p><p>Vaggie halted in the yellow lit hallway when the oak doors of Charlie's rooms opened and spat out no other than a man in black and red. Vaggie's lip was already curling in suspicion as Alastor's head whipped around to look at her. For a moment, Vaggie almost—just almost—caught the surprised look on his face, like a deer caught in headlights. Unironic. It didn’t last, however, and just as quickly as it had appeared, Alastor was smoothing his features into his usual smile, the cool and unfazed one that was familiar with the hotel’s residents. The look, coupled with his present position, however, was not a comfort to behold, no matter how familiar.</p><p>Vaggie's mind was a hurricane of thoughts happening in a split second: the alarm, the irritation, the protectiveness, the accusations—all of those and in between threatened to burst out of her mouth in a torrent, but the only thing that really mattered then was: “Charlie?”</p><p>“Awake,” Alastor supplied, just as terse.</p><p>“Awake?”</p><p>“Yes,” confirmed Alastor, looking down at her—<em>way</em> down; Vaggie was incredibly shorter than him—and eyed the claret she had with a questioning look. Vaggie didn’t owe him two shits to tell him why she’d brought it; but what he said next made her blood run cold: “She just woke up.”</p><p><em>Just.</em> It was a struggle to look at Alastor squarely without seeing red and without giving in to the urge to punch him in the face. Through the cold, confused madness, her head felt like it weighed a hundred pounds—no, a thousand pounds—and was going to drop to the floor at any moment. “What do you mean,” she spat out, “she <em>just</em> woke up?”</p><p>“Oh,” said Alastor, not looking the least perturbed. In fact, he was very nonchalant about it. It made Vaggie even more irked. “She fell asleep, you see, and—”</p><p>“You mean, she fell asleep <em>when</em> you were with her?” Hearing it come from her own mouth made it even worse.</p><p>“Is there something wrong?”</p><p>It was an innocent question, but the way he said it cleared her rage-ridden vision, enough to see his face properly, and see the way it was almost haughty as his smile turned to a wide horrible sneer that took up his whole face. It was a disturbing sight, and alarms were blaring inside of her head, and her head was spinning hundreds of miles an hour: but Vaggie was not one to cower at a show of threat. She stood her ground, glaring at him with the same amount of vehemence she felt boiling inside of her. His eyes flashed dangerously at her.</p><p>“Vaggie?”</p><p>This was not from Alastor—for he hadn’t yet shut the door, and it was slightly ajar, his hand still braced on the handle, and the voice’s owner was from inside, faint, as though far away. Charlie. She indeed sounded like she had woken up.</p><p>Alastor's sinister grin was suddenly gone, and he said to Vaggie, “Sounds like she heard you.” He pushed the door open for Vaggie, wide, and he tucked his other hand behind his self. His microphone stand materialized from thin air in his clutch, and without a sound but for the low feedback that announced its reemergence. “Best you go in and tell her about your progress with the demons you lectured,” suggested Alastor, placid-faced and mild sounding. It felt like whiplash. Had she imagined it?</p><p>He tipped his head to her.</p><p>Vaggie didn’t respond in kind.</p><p>She kept her eye on him as she passed, and he kept his eyes on her as well; but where the latter’s were collected, the former’s was icy. She was reticent as she went through the doorway, but the devil and Lucifer and heck, maybe even God knew that she wasn’t appeased—Alastor had never appeased her, not even when he seemed like a nice guy, and with this stunt he just pulled? Coming out of Charlie’s rooms like he had won something tonight?</p><p>Vaggie wanted to throttle him then and there.</p><p>“Alastor?” came Charlie’s voice, mellow as it uttered the Radio shitbag’s name. “Is Vaggie there?”</p><p>Alastor’s grin was… Vaggie shuddered. She could barely describe the syrupy look—she shuddered again. He called into the room, “Yes, darling. She came by.”</p><p>Vaggie heard a light thump, then footsteps, bare, and suddenly Charlie was there before her, lit up by the single beam of light coming from the hallway, and Vaggie noted with barely contained shock that she was only in her nightgown.</p><p>“Vaggie!” her best friend exclaimed.</p><p>“Charlie,” she said, with much less enthusiasm.</p><p>There came a crackling noise from behind her, and Vaggie looked over her shoulder to glower at the microphone in Alastor’s grasp, its mocking eye looking at her as the invisible audience hollered and whistled.</p><p>So Alastor found all of this funny. Perhaps she hadn’t been imagining things after all.</p><p>Things were adding up, things that Vaggie didn’t want to acknowledge, but they were laid right before her and it didn’t take her to be a genius to know what had happened before she had arrived.</p><p>A question bubbled in her throat, and it was bubbling <em>acid</em>.</p><p>Alastor, however, did not wait for her to ask it. He greeted them another, “Good evening, ladies,” and before she could whirl on him, the door clicked shut behind her.</p><p>“Okay…” was the first thing that was said, by Charlie, following an incredibly long, empty silence. She was wringing her hands together, but a pleased look was flickering in and out from under her sheepish smile, and if that wasn’t telling enough, then her reddening cheeks were. Charlie couldn’t be aware that she was blushing.</p><p>Vaggie kept her face deliberately impassive.</p><p>The other girl had trained her gaze on the floors the moment the door closed, and it was only then that she lifted her head, looking guilty as sin—and Vaggie couldn’t help the mortified groan she let out. Charlie's face turned even more sheepish (and just as pleased), and began, slowly, “You probably have some questions.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Tut-tut, Charlie.<br/>Charlie, probably: EHEH 👉👈</p><p>Do hit that kudos button if you enjoyed!</p><p>all the love, &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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